Life of the Party

by Kris Fletcher

  Jenna, who was leaning back as if to put as much space between her and the guy as possible.

  Cole was on his feet before he even realized he’d moved.

  Chapter Three

  When Jenna was six, she used to imagine that Daddy had come home.

  It didn’t matter that Daddy was dead. This was her make-believe time, and she indulged in deep and loving detail. She would lie in her bed at night—her old bed, the one that had come to the new house with her, a solid anchor to how life used to be—and pull the pillow over her head to block out the sounds of the twins singing and baby Annie crying and Bree bossing. It all faded away to a muffled someplace, far away, unable to bother her anymore.

  She would close her eyes. Take a big breath. And picture the day when Daddy would come back.

  She knew exactly how it would happen. She would be outside, in the backyard, all alone. That never happened, because Mommy always made sure that either Aunt Margie or Bree or a babysitter was with her, but to get around that, she decided that Aunt Margie was at work and Mommy had taken Bree to Girl Scouts and the twins had thrown mud all over each other so the sitter had taken them inside to clean up. Annie, too, because she needed a diaper change. But Jenna would have promised to be a good girl, and in her plan, she was sitting in the little pup tent that Aunt Margie had set up in the backyard, so the sitter had said, Okay, but don’t leave the tent. Which was fine by Jenna. She liked to hide in there with her stuffed animals and her trucks, driving them in circles to nowhere.

  That’s what she was doing in her daydreams when she heard someone walking outside the tent. She was never scared. She always knew that whoever was out there was someone good, someone who loved her.

  There would be a rustle at the tent’s front flap. A strong, scarred hand would knock gently on the front pole. And the voice that she missed so much would say, “Jennie Jenkins, can I come in?”

  In her make-believe, Daddy never came into the tent, because she always scrambled across the crinkly plastic floor until she was at the flap. Then Daddy’s hands would close around her waist and Daddy’s arms would pull her close and they would be together again, her and Daddy, spinning in circles and laughing and giggling and promising that they would always be together. Forever.

  The wishing, the hoping, had stopped abruptly when she was eleven and a strange woman knocked on the door one day to tell them that Rob wasn’t dead after all. That he had decided the best way to deal with being investigated and charged was to choose freedom in Costa Rica—even though it meant making them all think that he was dead—over the chance to do his time and come back to them.

  Because they would have waited. They wouldn’t have stopped loving him. They would have been hurt and angry and disappointed, but they would have waited. Even Neenee. Of that, Jenna had no doubt.

  But instead, dear old Dad had opted to put them all through hell. And now, trapped behind the counter of Brews and Blues while Robert Elias tried to convince her to listen to him, Jenna decided that it was long past time to return the favor.

  “You should leave,” she said, interrupting whatever nonsense he was trying to say. Because not a word of it had registered. Not since the moment when he had walked up to the counter, cleared his throat, and said, “Hello, Jenna” in a voice she wished she hadn’t recognized.

  Her eyes had stayed stone dry. Her throat had closed and her stomach had turned inside out like some kind of invertebrate sea creature, but she wasn’t wasting any more tears on Rob Elias.

  “You should leave now,” she said again, emphasizing the now. Just in case he had any delusions that she might want to talk to him or something.

  “I will,” he said. “In a minute.”

  He should have looked older. Grayer. A whole lot less confident.

  “I know your mother told you I was moving back,” he continued. “I decided to come in to let you know that it’s happened. And see if you might want to—”

  “No.” She leaned back, all the better to make sure he caught the full weight of her glare. “There is nothing I want to do with you. Except maybe get a schedule of where you’ll be, and when. So I can be sure to stay as far away as humanly possible.”

  His shrug wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the slight sag to his shoulders. At least he didn’t argue.

  “Got it.” He reached into his pocket and set a business card on the counter, sliding it across the glass with one slow finger. “But in case you ever change your mind . . .”

  Jenna’s gaze never left his face as she picked up the card, ripped it in half, and let the pieces fall to the floor.

  That should have done it. He should be shuffling out of the shop now, bent over by the weight of what a stupid fuck he had been. So why was he rocking back on his heels and staring at her with something that looked like pride?

  “You were always my feisty one,” he said softly, and reached into his pocket once again. This time, instead of a business card, he pulled out—

  Jenna’s throat closed as she spotted the pack of Juicy Fruit he slapped on the counter. The bright yellow wrapper blurred as she fell down the memory rabbit hole, spinning back to the days when Daddy always had a treat for her, when he would sneak her a piece of Juicy Fruit while Mommy was busy with the twins, whispering a reminder that she had to make sure she brushed her teeth really well so Mom wouldn’t smell it on her breath.

  She hadn’t been able to chew gum since she found out he wasn’t dead.

  She picked up the pack and pretended to read off the label. “Ingredients: lies, hurts, deceptions, and betrayals, with trace amounts of insanity and fucked-up-ness.” She tossed it in his direction. His catch, she knew, was pure reflex.

  “If you’re not out in thirty seconds, I’m calling the police.”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t broken any laws.”

  “Maybe not,” came a deep voice from down the counter. “But do you really want to put that to the test?”

  Jenna tore her focus from her father. Cole Dekker lounged ever so casually at the far end of the counter, his phone in his hand. For the first time that Jenna could remember, he wasn’t smiling.

  “Jenna.” Cole slid his nearly full glass across the counter. “I’m not going to finish this. Can you think of anything you’d like to do with it?”

  She glanced from the glass, to Cole, to her so-called father before breaking into a smile.

  “Why, yes,” she said. “I can absolutely think of a great use for that icy drink.”

  “Fine.” Rob, no dummy, took a step back, shooting a glance at Cole. “Relax, cowboy. I’m leaving.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Cole raised the phone. “Better make it fast, though. My finger’s getting twitchy.”

  With one last look in Jenna’s direction, Rob turned and left the shop. Jenna didn’t breathe until she saw him get into an aging Volkswagen and pull out of the parking lot. Then, at last, she turned to Cole.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But you didn’t have to do that. I had it under control.”

  “I know you did.”

  “So why did you come over? To play hero?”

  “Hell no,” he said. “I wanted to pick up some pointers.”

  It was so different from the answer she’d been expecting that she burst into peals of laughter. Okay, maybe they were slightly tinged with hysteria, but still. It felt good.

  “Here.” A firm hand settled on her arm. “I think maybe you should sit down for a few minutes.”

  She started to protest, but come to think of it, she was kind of shaky. Aftershock, she thought absently. In the days before the accident she might have been able to carry on as usual, but now, when standing straight and walking still had their challenging moments, it was probably a better idea to err on the side of caution.

  God, she hated that. Caution was so not her thing.

  “Would you like a glass of
water?” Cole didn’t sit, but bent slightly as if to shield her from the patrons. Aw, a gentleman. She thought they were an endangered species.

  “No, thanks.”

  “How about some coffee?” The corner of his mouth tipped up in an intriguing kind of quirk. “I hear it’s pretty good here.”

  She laughed again, slightly less hysterically this time, which was definitely reassuring. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”

  He said nothing, but his expression shifted from concerned to expectant. She decided she liked that a lot better. Better enough that she crooked her finger, willing him closer.

  He followed her lead. Smart man.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but”—her voice dropped—“I hate coffee. I only drink it for medicinal purposes.”

  He reared back in mock horror. “Isn’t that almost blasphemy?”

  She shrugged. “My sister knows, and since she’s the boss, I say that’s all that matters.”

  “Your sister is the owner?”

  Oops. She hadn’t meant to let that slip out. Not that Kyrie would care. Nor was Jenna remotely embarrassed about being employed by Kyrie. It was just that when people found out, they tended to look at her, and then at her leg, and put the pieces together in a way that left them looking at her with pity.

  She’d had her fill of pity over the last couple of years, thank you very much. And she definitely didn’t want any being dished up by Mr. Dishy. So it was a great relief when he simply said, “Handy.”

  “Very.”

  “And the man who was bothering you before you took him down so effectively? Also family?”

  She wasn’t ready to go there. And from the way he raised his hands as he eased into the chair across from her, she suspected that her abhorrence must have shown in her face.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. But I’m a lawyer, and one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned since going into private practice is that nothing screws people around like family.”

  She could live with that.

  “Put it this way.” She didn’t owe Cole Dekker an explanation, but he had been very nice. “At one point, he was family.”

  “Emphasis on the past tense.”

  “You got it.”

  “I take it he doesn’t think it’s all in the past.”

  She gave him her best glower—the one she used to use on Kendall when he made his For Appearances Only visits to her hospital room. Lucky for Cole, he was a lot more astute than Ken had been.

  “Not talking about it. Right. Sorry again.” He flashed her a ridiculously boyish grin. “Occupational hazard.”

  She could buy that, too. But that didn’t mean she wanted him to keep making those guesses that hit too close to home.

  “You know; I think I could use something to drink after all. Could you maybe grab me one of the iced teas from the cooler? The plain ones. No sweetener.”

  “Happy to.”

  As he hurried off to do his helper-man thing, she tipped her head back and rolled her shoulders, working out the tension. If only she could get rid of the annoyance as quickly.

  Rob Elias shouldn’t have any power over her anymore. He shouldn’t have the ability to make her feel anything other than maybe disgust. In the apartment of her life, he was the night-dwelling cockroach. It pissed her off beyond belief that he should still be able to make her feel . . . whatever.

  Enough. He might still be able to make her crazy, but she didn’t have to give him any more of her time. She could focus on other things. Happier things.

  Like Cole Dekker’s ass when he stretched to get the tea from the back of the cooler.

  Though why was he doing that? There were some right at the front. She had restocked the cooler not an hour ago.

  He was probably hunting for the coldest one. What a sweetheart. Either that, or he knew that he did indeed have a very fine ass, and wasn’t above making sure she noticed it.

  And when he straightened up and headed back to her, tea in hand, she couldn’t help but notice that his slightly determined/slightly worried/musn’t alarm the patient smile was rather adorable.

  Not that she was in the market. Uh-uh. The ink on her divorce papers wasn’t dry enough yet for her to feel remotely ready to tangle with someone new, no matter how cute his rear. Or front.

  Besides which, who needed that kind of complication? Jenna 3.0 was almost ready to launch. She was months away from finishing the degree she’d interrupted to be a trophy wife—not that she had called it that at the time—she was well on the way to post-accident recovery, and she was footloose and fellow-free. Soon, very soon, her education and her new name would take her someplace fresh. Someplace where she didn’t have a history. Someplace where she could find her way back to an older, more stable version of the fun-loving gal she used to be.

  Not to mention the fact that there wasn’t an Elias in town who would be fool enough to hook up with a politician. The very thought had her grimacing.

  Which, of course, had Dudley Do-Right picking up speed as he returned.

  “Problem?” he asked, setting the tea in front of her.

  “Not really.” She wrestled the lid free and raised the container in his direction. “Just a flashback. Sort of.”

  “Ah.”

  Did he have to sound so smug?

  “Nothing to do with what just happened,” she said, adding a flat-out lie to her list of sins for the day. Bree would be so ashamed of her.

  Aunt Margie would just laugh and tell her to go big or go home.

  Cole watched her drink with appropriate concern before bestowing that boyish grin on her once more. “Can I make a confession?”

  “Do I look like a priest?”

  “Uh, no.” His grin shifted tone. Probably because of the way his gaze had drifted south for the fastest flash. “Though I could easily imagine you in a nun’s habit.”

  She inhaled her tea, coming up sputtering. This time, her distress didn’t seem to cause him any concern.

  She kind of liked that.

  “I’m not Catholic.”

  “Technicality.”

  “You know,” she said, “an up-and-coming politician isn’t supposed to be so . . .” Disarming? Appealing? “So frank,” she finished, knowing even as she said it that her line was almost as lame as her leg had been.

  “See, that’s what I mean. You surprise me. With your political comments, I mean. It’s almost like you have a different perspective on politics than the average cup o’ joe.”

  Huh. He really didn’t know who she was.

  It made sense. Bree had said that Cole grew up in Lansing, the tiny town next door. While she had no doubt whatsoever that he had heard of her father, it was indeed possible that Cole didn’t recognize Daddy Dearest in the flesh. Or that Cole didn’t know of her connection to Mayor Money Launderer.

  “Politics were a big thing in my family,” she said carefully. “There were a lot of dinner-table conversations on the topic.” Okay, so those had mostly centered on how public service didn’t mean serving yourself from the public purse, but still. Technically true.

  “And which side do you fall on?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know. Republican? Democrat? Independent?”

  “Switzerland.”

  “Switzerland?”

  “Neutral. Watching.” Before she could stop herself, she added, “Though I do confess to having a thing for the underdog.”

  His grin was way too swift to warm her the way it did. “Ever volunteer on a campaign?”

  Was it volunteering when you were five years old and posing for pictures in matching dresses with your sisters? “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, if you’re ever up for a new experience, feel free to wander a couple of doors down. We can always use a hand.” He tapped the back of hers as if to
emphasize his point. “Especially when it’s attached to a mind with such interesting . . . insights.”

  “Are you recruiting me or hitting on me?”

  He sat back the slightest bit. But there was no surprise in his eyes. More like admiration.

  “Would you believe, neither?”

  “Would you?”

  Again with the grin. God, that thing should be registered as a weapon of potential destruction.

  “How about I leave that up to you to decide?”

  Seriously?

  “Not a good plan, Mr. Dekker. You never know what we voters might be thinking.”

  He pushed to his feet, braced himself with a palm on the table, and leaned forward. “When it comes to you, Just Jenna, I think it would be best to let you keep me informed.”

  ***

  Back in the office, Cole and Ram had made good progress on turning the space into something that was beginning to resemble an office. Even more important, Cole had finished telling Ram about his encounter with Coffee Jenna. Well, the parts of it that might be of interest to Ram, that is.

  Are you recruiting me or hitting on me?

  The truth was that he wasn’t sure. Not a position Cole found himself in very often. No wonder he’d resorted to ambiguity when she called him on his offer.

  “Anyway, I asked her if she’d be interested in doing some work with us,” he said as he fit a drawer into a desk. “So if she shows up here and asks about helping, that’s why.”

  It took him a moment to realize that Ram wasn’t answering.

  “Ram?” Cole gave the drawer a shove and glanced up. Ram was leaning on an upended sofa, staring at him with an expression Cole hadn’t seen since ninth grade, when he informed Ram that he was considering a career as a medical missionary. “Oh, good. You’re still alive.”